Not a Star
by AfricanSavannah
Summary: Narcissa's views on her name.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine; No profit being made

The Importance of Names

Everyone has their secrets, I hide my darkest one well. I doubt even Lucius knows it despite our closeness. To put it simply I'm scared that my personality is flawed, inherently so. We purebloods put great stock in names, my family, the Blacks more so than some of the others. My siblings, my cousins, my ancestors, every single one of them were named after a star or constellation, not so I. We use a spell to determine the name of a newborn child. Narcissa. After Narcissus, the man who was unable to love another, unable to see any flaw in himself, he died young as a result.

When I was younger, I passed it off whilst harbouring a secret jealousy for my sisters. With Sirius having turned out to be dog animagus and my husband a Death Eater, sometimes I feel like my life is slipping away and eventually I will die the young, pointless death of my namesake. Other times I wonder if I am truly incapable of caring for anyone but myself, then I think of Lucius or Draco. The Dark Lord will get my family killed someday, if it is someday soon, then, perhaps, dying young won't be so bad. I don't know how I could live without them still the idea of dying scares me. I've been scared by my name for years now, and until I die, I think I always will be.


	2. Chapter 2

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Push. She tells me. Push? I am pushing. Spasms wrack my body and I pant for breath. If she had ever given birth herself she'd realise that saying it's nearly over isn't helping. I want it to be over. Now! I arch once more screaming. Then I feel it coming out, writhing. It hurts. I wish it would stop. Then I feel that something is wrong. It seizes at my heart. It whispers over my flesh and echoes in my bones. Something is wrong. I scream, really scream, twisting and writhing myself now. A little part of me is crying out that we're going to die. Another part of me whimpers that death would be better than this. The World around me shifts and suddenly for a moment I can see. See with a capital 's'.

Servus, Servus the servant. Loyal and protective, but that is what will bring about his servitude. Servant to Voldemort, servant to Lucius. But in my mind I swear it, and I do not swear it lightly, I will allow him to be nothing less than a son to me. My son, and I wonder if already he is a better person than I. Then the pain is back, but duller now.

"We almost lost you."

The healer's voice comes as if through water.

"Happens a lot to you Black women."

Yes, yes it does. I selfishly long for the whispery voice.

"Tell me, tell me, why am I Narcissa? Why?"

My lips form the words easily. I use no more than a puff of breath to power them, but that is enough and whatever there is to hear. I wait, anxious to hear the reply, but dreading the answer. The healers bustle around me casting diagnostic spells. I don't ask for my son, I am almost frightened of the pink, little squirming human that I heard cry. I thought that he would be spared, have a name without meaning, without expectations. I expected to feel motherly, I didn't when I was pregnant, but still, I do not wish to hold him, I feel vaguely apathetic to the odd little thing the healers took away.

"Would you like to hold him."

Not really, no. But I nod anyway and a bundle is pressed into my arms. He looks better now that he is dry. He yawns it is cute, but despite what everyone says, as his mother I don't think him beautiful. I think he is ugly, maybe he is no less attractive than normal for a baby, but in my eyes all babies are ugly.

"Our Draco."

I look down at the newly named Draco.

"You don't mind do you? I know how much you loved the names of your family."

"It's perfect."

Draco, my dragon. I feel that I will learn to love him, hopefully before he is old enough to realise that I am faking my doting smile, whereas Lucius is wearing a cold mask, but in his eyes, there is nothing less than abject love.


End file.
